Transatlanticism
by Shearwater
Summary: In the dead of a winter's night a year after the Nogitsune's death, Isaac returns to Beacon Hills with fresh blood on his hands, only this time, it's his own. Cue Isaac whump, pack fluff, Derek's loft, and pillowfights. Could be read as pre-Scisaac. CW for past/referenced abuse.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys! I know I should be working on Sedona right now, and I will be very soon, now that I'm on break from college. But this Teen Wolf ficlet wanted to come out, so here's the start. This is chapter one of five. Takes place right after the end of Season 4 and before Derek and Braeden leave town. No Kira/Scott in this fic. I hope you guys like it!**

 **I don't own Teen Wolf. Title and epigraph from the Death Cab for Cutie song "Transatlanticism." Enjoy!**

 ** Transatlanticism**

 _The rhythm of my footsteps crossing flatlands to your door_

 _have been silenced forevermore._

 _-_ Death Cab for Cutie

 **Chapter One**

 _There is someone outside._

That was the first thought in Scott's mind as he flared awake from a deep sleep. He sat up and looked around his room.

A glance at his clock told him it was close to 3:00AM. The world outside his window was pitch black. The house was quiet. Scott sniffed the air and cast his senses outward. His mom was sleeping calmly down the hall. Downstairs, his dad was snoring on the couch. The normal sounds of night were humming along. Nothing seemed out of place.

So what had woken him? His whole body was tense, and he felt wide awake, like he'd been doused with a bucket of cold water. He'd surged into awareness with the single-minded clarity he only got before a fight began. His mouth was crowded with fang. Something, somewhere, was wrong.

Scott stood. He crossed the room to the window and peered outside. His roof was empty. The fingernail moon was low in the sky. A creeping unease was still settled in his guts, and he picked up his phone and checked for messages or missed calls. Nothing.

He sat back down on his bed and breathed out slowly. Maybe it had just been another nightmare. Every night for the past three weeks he'd woken up with his jaw sore from clenching his teeth and his head foggy from dark dreams. Even though he knew that everyone was warded, that Stiles and his dad were on high alert, that Lydia would be able to warn them if one of the pack was in mortal danger, it did little to alleviate the anxiety. It was getting to him.

Just a nightmare, then. Even though, somehow, this felt different. He'd woken with the intense feeling that someone was outside the house.

Scott sighed. He needed to sleep. The house was warded, the alarms were armed. They were safe.

Everyone was safe. He had to keep telling himself that.

He settled back into bed and closed his eyes.

He was just slipping into sleep when the sound reached his ears– a faint but distinct shout of pain.

From outside the house.

He surged out of bed and ran to the window. He scanned the roof, the driveway, but it was too dark to see. He flicked on his alpha vision and peered into the woods near the end of the driveway.

In the winter-naked trees was a human figure, shuffling toward the driveway.

Scott threw on pants and a black sweatshirt and stuck his phone and a folding knife in his pocket.

A few seconds later, he was downstairs, padding silently past his sleeping father and toward the front door. He opened it and looked out.

A person was standing at the end of his driveway. Their face was covered and their clothes were dark. The wind was blowing away from Scott so he couldn't catch a scent. He could hear them though– a fast, light heartbeat, that of someone under stress.

A growl rippled in Scott's throat. The figure paused, and seemed to look up at him.

Scott exited the house and shut the door behind him. This was probably a trap, or a threat. If it was either, he was not letting it come inside to where his parents were sleeping, to the sacred space of his home.

He walked slowly toward the figure. His claws slid out, and he felt his eyes glow. The figure did not move. It seemed to almost sway with the wind.

When he was twenty feet away, Scott paused.

Abruptly, the wind shifted. The figure's scent washed over him.

Scott gasped as memory rose up and choked him, and information cascaded into his mind– blood and fear and pain and–

And then he was rushing forward, a name caught in his mouth.

The figure swayed hard, then collapsed. Scott reached him and caught him just before he hit the ground, just as Scott managed to speak again.

" _Isaac."_ Scott cradled him. "Isaac!"

Isaac stirred in his arms and moaned. His face was wrapped in a black scarf up to his nose. His eyes fluttered open and shut.

"Isaac," Scott said, running his hands over arms, torso, seeking injuries. He could smell a lot of blood on him. "Talk to me, man. What happened? What– how did you even–?" It had been over a year since he'd last seen Isaac, when he left for France with Argent without saying goodbye. Scott hadn't blamed him then, and he didn't now. But he was reeling from his sudden return.

He pulled the scarf down and uncovered the rest of Isaac's face. Blood ran from the corner of his mouth. His pale skin was purple with bruising.

Scott gently framed Isaac's face with his hands and drew his friend's pain into himself. There it was– a deep stab wound in his upper left chest, and a deep slash across his lower abdomen. The wounds throbbed and burned in a way that those of a werewolf shouldn't, and anxiety churned in Scott's stomach. Isaac's legs also ached like he'd run all the way here from the far side of the world. And maybe he had. Scott snarled in pain as he drew off Isaac's hurt before casting it off. Slowly, Isaac stilled under his hands. His eyes fluttered open and fixed on Scott's.

Scott smiled softly. He ran his thumb over Isaac's cheekbone. "Hey," Scott said.

Isaac's eyes filled with tears, but he half-grinned. There was blood in his teeth. He tried to speak, and started choking.

"Hey, hey, Isaac. Breathe. Take it easy," Scott said. He pulled Isaac up so he was sitting somewhat upright, and Isaac started to cough. Violent, wracking sounds escaped him, and blood splattered the asphalt. Scott rubbed his back soothingly, careful to avoid his wounds. He sniffed Isaac's clothes. Wolfsbane burned in his nostrils, and he snarled softly. "Who did this to you?" he asked softly.

Isaac coughed for a few moments more before his breathing started to even out. "Scott…" he whispered. His entire frame trembled. He swayed again, and Scott steadied him.

"Isaac?" Scott asked, allowing some authority to creep into his voice. Isaac was so out of his head with the pain, only an alpha's command might bring him out of it. "You have to tell me what happened. Who did this?"

Isaac coughed once more, then spat out a glob of black-tinged blood. "Hunters…" he rasped. "Bad hunters…"

"Are they nearby?" Scott smelled the night air and threw his hearing outward. He hadn't detected anything yet, but he had a bad feeling.

Isaac had gone still in his arms. Scott turned his face toward his own. "Isaac?" Isaac's eyes were shut, his breath slow and heavy. " _Isaac?"_ Scott frantically listened to his heart. Beating, but too fast, too thready. The wolfsbane was infiltrating his system.

Deaton. He needed Deaton. Scott fumbled for his phone.

His mind was going blank with fear. He'd watched Allison die. It had nearly destroyed him. He couldn't stomach the idea of losing Isaac too.

He managed to dial Deaton. He prayed their emissary wasn't a heavy sleeper.

Deaton picked up on the second ring. " _Scott?"_

"Deaton! I–I– it's–" Fear was choking him.

" _Scott, listen to me. Are you hurt?"_ Evidently Deaton could judge by the sheer panic in Scott's voice that something was very wrong.

"No, no, it's not me, it's Isaac. He just showed up at my house. He's– he's really hurt, Deaton. I think it's wolfsbane, I don't know what to do." He managed to explain Isaac's injuries, and the fact that he said hunters had done it to him.

Deaton sounded grim. " _It does sound like wolfsbane, but I think it's a rare strain. It will kill him very soon if I don't treat it. Take him to Derek's loft; it's more defensible against humans than the clinic. I'll meet you there in ten minutes."_

"Okay. Okay. Derek's loft. Meet you there." Scott went to hang up.

" _Scott,"_ Deaton said. " _He's going to be okay. Just get him there."_

Deaton hung up. Scott thought fast. He couldn't take Isaac on his bike, and his dad had given his mom a ride back from the hospital, which meant his was the only car at the house. Scott really didn't want to give his dad the whole I'm-a-werewolf-and-I-need-your-keys talk with a dying Isaac in his arms.

He called Stiles.

When his best friend answered, his voice was thick with sleep.

" _Scott, what the hell–?"_

"I need to you to drive to my house right now," Scott urged. "I don't have time to explain. Please just come, Stiles, _now."_

" _Oh– oh, shit, okay, what–"_ Scott heard through the lines the sounds of Stiles stumbling out of bed, a light coming on. " _Are you okay? What–"_

"I'll explain everything when you get here, I promise. Just get here as fast as you can." Scott hung up, knowing that Stiles wouldn't stop trying to figure out what was going on.

In his arms, Isaac tensed and moaned. He started coughing again. Black liquid ran from the side of his mouth.

"Hey, hey, Isaac." Scott cradled his head against his shoulder, wiping the blackness off his face. "Take it easy, dude. You're safe. You're here with me."

Isaac stilled again. His skin, already naturally pale, was ghostly in the yellow of the street light and covered with a sheen of sweat despite the chilly night. Scott pulled him in, wrapping his arms around Isaac's torso and hugging him close.

"Listen, you dumbass," he murmured in Isaac's ear. "You didn't say goodbye last time. So if you die on me now I swear I will pull some kind of darach/werewolf voodoo thing and bring you back just so I can tell you off for it."

Isaac was fully unconscious. Scott didn't expect him to hear. He kept talking anyway.

"We all missed you, you know. I wish you hadn't gone. I know you had to. I know you had to get away from…all this. Hell, I wanted to for a while there, after everything." He rested his chin gently on the crown of Isaac's head. His blonde curls were tamped down with sweat and blood. "I still missed you, though."

Isaac stirred slightly. His hand reached up, groping in sleep, and found purchase on Scott's sweatshirt. He gripped tight. Scott covered Isaac's hand with his own, and gripped back.

Headlights came cutting down the driveway. Stiles's Jeep appeared moments later and jerked to a stop next to where Scott knelt. Stiles tumbled out of the driver's side.

"Scott! Are you okay? What the hell is going–" His face went jet white. "Holy shit, is that _Isaac?"_

"Yeah, and he's dying. We have to get him to Derek's, Deaton will meet us there." Scott stood carefully, holding Isaac bridal-style. The other boy was a good half-foot taller than him, and even with his wolf strength, Scott struggled to keep him steady. "Open the back door for me."

Stiles didn't say anything, a testament to how shocked he actually was. Scott climbed into the back of the Jeep, laying Isaac out next to him and resting his head in his lap. Stiles closed the door, got back in, and drove. They broke every speed limit in Beacon Hills as they tore through the night toward the loft.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey guys! Here's the next installment. This story will be updated every Friday evening. Enjoy!**

It was a little past four when they screeched to a stop outside of the loft. Scott got out and faced the dark building. He could smell Derek and Braeden inside, but he was too far off to hear their heartbeats. He ran up to the entrance and was about to pound on the buzzer when the door flew open. Derek stood in the foyer, looking sleep-ruffled and alarmed. Braeden stood in the shadows a little ways back, the gun in her hand half-hidden behind her bare thigh.

"Scott, what's wrong? I could smell your fear a mile off." Derek's eyes were wide and aware, and he scanned the darkness around the loft.

Scott winced. He hoped Liam didn't feel his agitation. There was no need for him to get involved in all this.

"I need your help," Scott said in a rush. He showed him to the Jeep.

Derek's eyes flared blue in shock when he saw Isaac. "Oh, my God."

"Deaton's on his way. Help me with him." Scott opened the door. He reached in, but Derek gently nudged him aside.

"I got him," Derek murmured. "You and Stiles go in and get the table prepped."

Scott nodded and turned. He and Stiles ran inside. Braeden led them up and unlocked the door.

The loft smelled like sleep and gunpowder. Scott hoped it wouldn't scare Isaac to wake up here. He would much rather have kept him at the house, given some of the traumatic experiences that had occurred here. Scott knew Derek had repeatedly apologized to Isaac about kicking him out of the loft. He also knew that the only reason Derek had done so with such violence was to make sure Isaac wouldn't come back and be in even more danger from the alpha pack. Still, Scott had been quietly livid toward Derek for a long time after the incident. Isaac had accepted the apology, but Scott didn't miss the way Isaac would sometimes get jumpy around Derek, or how he tried to avoid the loft. Though he figured that had more to do with Boyd's murder than anything else.

Still, the space had changed since then. The pack had left its mark. No one dared mess with Derek's space in the corner, but the rest of the loft bore the subtle markers of a meeting place. Stiles had browbeaten Derek into letting him bring some cooking supplies over. He'd make popcorn and mac and cheese for movie nights– a "pack bonding activity" Stiles had managed to talk them all into. Derek had huffed and rolled his eyes at first, but Scott could sense he secretly enjoyed them. They'd started doing them more often since Liam had come into fold, mainly to work off the hangover of the full moon together by sacking out with a _Lord of the Rings_ marathon or binge-watching Netflix. A few bean bags and two new couches had accumulated around the TV. A colony of potted herbs found their way to the sills of the smaller windows. Some simple throw rugs brightened the dark floors. One day Lydia draped a few Celtic-style tapestries in key points around the main room– "It's too gloomy in here, boys," she'd said primly.

That was right after Allison. Derek hadn't taken them down. Scott had never thanked him for that.

Braeden turned on the lights. "Go to the closet and pull out some towels," she ordered. "Clear off the table and cover it with them."

They did as they were told. Anxiety sharpened Scott's senses and scattered them all at once. He could smell and hear everything and focus on nothing. Noise swelled in his ears. A low whine escaped him, and he shook his head in an effort to clear it.

A warm hand landed on his shoulder. He looked up into Stiles's pale face.

"Scott. He's going to be fine. You need to calm down."

Scott gripped the edges of the table. He zeroed in on the bite of the wood into his palms. "He just came out of the dark, Stiles. Like a ghost. He scared the hell out of me." Scott looked to the staircase. "He's still scaring the hell out of me."

Stiles's hand on his shoulder tightened. "You gotta focus. Right now, he needs you calm. Deaton's gonna fix him, like he always does. It's going to be okay."

Scott breathed out twice, slowly. "Okay." Strange, he thought. He hadn't felt this unmoored since his first full moons.

Derek rushed in with Isaac. "Move!" he barked. Scott and Stiles got out of the way as Derek laid Isaac gently on the table.

"Anyone care to explain what happened?" Braeden asked.

Derek looked to Scott, and Scott realized he hadn't actually told anyone what was going on. "He just showed up at my house," he explained. "He's poisoned with some kind of wolfsbane; Deaton's on his way over here now. Before he passed out Isaac said it had been hunters. I couldn't get it out of him how far off they are." At that, Braeden left the room to guard the door, re-arming the security system on her way out.

Derek leaned down and sniffed Isaac's shirt. "These wounds are less than an hour old," he said. "He probably ran into a band of hunters outside the city limits. I've been hearing reports through the grapevine that since the waking of the Nemeton, more hunters have been coming to the area." He sniffed again. "Maybe that's why I don't recognize this strain of wolfsbane. It's not native to this region."

"Deaton will know what to do," Scott said. "He has to." He rested his hand on Isaac's mud-crusted wrist and started to draw out some of his pain. He hissed as the bite kicked in, but Isaac seemed to relax a little.

Footsteps sounded from outside. Deaton appeared with Braeden behind him. "Good morning, everyone," he said calmly. He approached the table. He was dressed in jeans and a simple scrub shirt. Sleep still crusted the corners of his eyes. In one hand was a large medical bag.

"Scott, remove his shirt," Deaton said, setting down his medical bag and slipping on a pair of latex gloves." Are the injuries all on his torso?"

Scott nodded. He gently worked off Isaac's jacket, then flicked out his claws and carefully cut down the center of the other boy's shirt. He hissed sympathetically when Isaac's chest was bared.

He was even stronger and more toned than when Scott had last seen him, but his growth was overshadowed by his injuries. His ribs were mottled purple with bruising, likely from breakage. The cut across his stomach leaked blood and black fluid. The stab wound in his upper chest looked deep, and the edges of the cut had turned black. Dark lines traced his veins away from both injuries.

"Right," Deaton said heavily. "If the toxins stay in his system long enough, it will paralyze him and he will suffocate. I need to cleanse both sites."

Derek winced. "With fire?"

Deaton nodded grimly. "I need to perform a small spell first. Then we'll cauterize them. I need all of you to hold him down. This is going to cause him significant pain."

Scott swallowed. "Derek," he asked, "will you help me?"

"Of course," Derek said, with unusual softness. He went and stood at the foot of the table and gripped both of Isaac's legs just above the ankle. Black lines of pain seeped into his hands.

Scott tightened his grip on Isaac's arm. Stiles and Braeden took his other side.

"Is everyone ready?" Deaton asked. He stood next to Isaac's chest, a handful of fragrant herbs cupped in his palm.

They all nodded. Deaton took a deep breath, and began murmuring an incantation.

Immediately, the atmosphere of the room changed. The air seemed to warm and grow softer. Scott flicked on his alpha vision. The herbs in Deaton's hand glowed the same way the purple reishi had, back in the Hale vault.

Deaton went silent. "Hold him tightly."

He poured the herbs into Isaac's wounds.

With shocking violence, Isaac started trashing.

"Hold him!" ordered Deaton.

Scott gripped Isaac's arm so hard he was sure that the bruises would last for at least a few minutes. He hurled himself into the beta's pain. It was almost too much, and his knees threatened to buckle. With his alpha vision he could see the landscape of Isaac's agony– the harsh, searing black of his wounds, and the fire-bright, soul-deep hurt of the herbs entering and cleansing his system. A bright stream of it traveled down his arm and legs, where it entered Scott's and Derek's hands. Scott groaned and lowered his head. In the back of his throat he tasted blood, and he realized he'd bitten through the edges of his tongue.

"Okay," he heard Deaton say, as if from underwater. "Halfway there. I'm going to start the burning now. You all are doing very well."

Scott shook himself out of his stupor. The pain had faded fractionally. Isaac was trembling. Tears cut down his pale face.

Deaton held up a blowtorch. "Hold him," he repeated.

He lowered the blowtorch and began cauterizing the wounds.

Isaac howled.

It was a horrible, ripping sound that rattled Scott's bones, a hybrid of his wolf howl and a human scream of sheer agony. Scott's vision whited out for a second as Isaac's pain redoubled. He half-collapsed against the table, but he refused to let go. Isaac thrashed and arched. His eyes flew open, a hectic, unseeing yellow. He opened his fangs to the ceiling as the howl stretched on and on until Scott thought his skull would fracture.

And then it was over. The black of the poison was gone from his wounds, leaving just white-hot pain in its place.

Deaton dropped the blowtorch on the floor with a clang and gripped Isaac's shoulders, pressing him into the table. "Isaac!" he called, with the commanding tone Scott had only heard from him once or twice before. "Breathe, Isaac! I need you to calm down. It's over. You're safe here."

Isaac stopped howling, but he didn't stop thrashing. Fresh blood ran from his wounds were the burns split, the iron scent searing Scott's nostrils. "Isaac, please!" Deaton cried.

Fear and desperation took over. With a snarl, Scott leaned down close to the other boy's face. " _ISAAC!"_ he roared.

Isaac froze. Wild eyes fixed on Scott's.

"Isaac, calm down. You have to hold still. Hold still." Scott found Isaac's hand and gripped it hard. "You're safe here."

Isaac blinked rapidly. His mouth tried to form words. For a moment the yellow faded to familiar blue before his eyes slid shut.

Deaton caught the back of Isaac's head before it could slam onto the table as he went limp.

Panic swooped in Scott's stomach. He grasped Isaac's wrist and found the reassuring thrum of his pulse, steadier than it had been before.

Blackness encroached at the corners of his vision. His hearing grew muffled, and the scents in the room abruptly cut off. His knees buckled.

Strong arms caught him. He felt himself be moved gently across the floor. The world went silent.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The next thing Scott knew, he was sitting on the floor with his back against a wall. Stiles sat cross-legged in front of him. His face relaxed in relief when he saw Scott's eyes open.

"Jesus, don't do that!" he exclaimed. "You scared the shit out of me! You and Sourwolf over there."

Scott looked across the room to see Derek in wolf form lying against the far wall.

"He passed out right when you did," Stiles explained. "Only he shifted right after. Braeden moved him over there so we wouldn't step on him. Deaton said he'll recover faster as a wolf than in human form." Stiles shook his head. "Freakin' weird, man."

Scott smirked softly. Honestly, ever since Derek had evolved, he'd been a little jealous. Turning fully into a wolf– an enormous black wolf at that– was pretty badass.

"How long have we been out?" Scott asked, shifting so he was slightly more upright.

"About an hour," Stiles said. "Deaton left a little while ago. He said he had to check on the clinic. Braeden's guarding the entrance."

"Isaac…?"

"He's okay," Stiles said quickly. He looked dubious. "Well, no, he's not okay. He's got two big-ass holes in his chest. But Deaton said he's healing, just very slowly. They don't know when he'll wake up."

Scott looked around the room. The table had been cleaned off and moved. Someone had sprayed lavender-scented disinfectant somewhere to mask the cold tang of blood lingering in the air.

Isaac lay under one of the softer blankets on the big couch near the TV. His face was turned toward them. His mouth was slightly open in sleep. Someone had cleaned the blood off his face, and the bruises on his cheekbones looked slightly less angry. Scott could hear that his breathing was level and his heartbeat was calmer than before.

"Deaton gave him something for the pain," Stiles murmured. He looked at Scott seriously. "You okay? Deaton said you two passed out because you overdid it with the whole mind-meld thing."

Scott nodded. "I'm okay. I think." He smacked his lips softly. His mouth still tasted like blood.

Stiles dug in his jacket pocket. He withdrew his hand and offered a slightly smushed Snickers bar. "Here."

Scott accepted it, nodding gratefully. He ate slowly. His head was still fuzzy, and his limbs tingled with a memory of Isaac's pain. He shivered.

"Scott?" asked Stiles, gently.

"He was in so much pain, Stiles," Scott muttered. "I've never felt another living thing in that much pain. I thought his heart would stop."

Stiles sat down against the wall next to him, close enough for their arms and legs to press gently against each other. Scott was grateful for the contact. Even before the bite, he'd enjoyed human touch. It grounded him somehow. He was glad Stiles knew as much. When they were kids and Scott was upset over something, Stiles would sometimes just hug him until he cried or talked or calmed down. Sitting beside Stiles now, he could almost feel his energy returning.

"He's gonna be fine, Scott," Stiles reassured. "You got him here in time. He's gonna be okay." He nudged Scott. "I want to know if you're going to be."

Scott leaned against Stiles. "Yeah. I will be. I'm just really happy he's back. I missed him."

Stiles snorted softly. "All of us did. Even I did." He smirked. "Dumbass has the nerve to show up here in the middle of the damn night without even texting."

Footsteps pounded up the stairs.

Scott and Stiles shot to their feet. Scott flicked out his claws.

A moment later, the door slid open a few feet. Liam appeared in the entrance.

He was barefoot and wearing shorts and a loose t-shirt. His hair was ruffled, his chest was heaving, and he smelled like night and adrenaline. Scott stared at him.

"I told him you all were okay," Braeden said, appearing behind Liam. She sounded exasperated. "He wouldn't take no for an answer."

Liam blushed. "I heard the howl," he said, still out of breath. "I thought…I felt like something was wrong."

Scott could smell his anxiety. "Did you run all the way here?" he asked, aghast. Liam's house was on the outside of town, at least fifteen miles away from the loft.

Liam nodded. Now that he was here, and there seemed to be nothing wrong, he looked really embarrassed.

Scott looked to Braeden. "It's okay." Braeden nodded, rolled her eyes, and left, sliding the door shut behind her.

Liam gnawed his lip. He smelled the air. "Is that blood?" He looked around the room. He stilled when his eyes fell on Isaac. "What…who…?"

"His name's Isaac." Scott blinked. His vision was getting spotty again. "He's pack. He's been gone for a little while." Suddenly, a wave of exhaustion hit Scott like a two-by-four. His legs went on strike again, and he would've fallen if Stiles hadn't caught him and steadied him.

Instantly, Liam was by his side, gripping his arm. "Scott?"

"I'm okay," he muttered, but sleep clawed at the edges of his consciousness. His frame trembled.

"Okay, you know what? Everyone come over here," Stiles declared. He steered Scott over to the cluster of couches where Isaac lay unconscious. Liam followed, smelling a little puzzled.

Stiles sat Scott down on the edge of Isaac's couch. Scott watched through a haze of tiredness as Stiles pushed the other couches closer to Isaac's. "Liam, help me move these, will ya?"

Liam's puzzlement deepened, but he did as Stile asked. One of the couches was really just a long ottoman; this Stiles pushed against Isaac's couch, doubling its width. Then he pushed another long one against the ottoman. It became a single area of couch slightly bigger than a queen-sized mattress. Stiles then pilfered every blanket in the loft, including the extras from the closet and the comforter on the end of Derek's bed, and draped them over the couch island.

During this process, Scott felt himself slowly losing his grip on consciousness. The last dregs of adrenaline were rapidly fleeing his system.

Stiles threw a blanket over him. It was the straw that broke the wolf's back, and Scott slumped clumsily onto the couch, next to Isaac.

He was vaguely aware of Liam and Stiles speaking quietly. Someone worked his boots off his feet and threw another blanket over him.

Warmth was somewhere near him. Warmth that smelled like blood and rain. Scott shifted closer to it. He realized it was Isaac, breathing softly and evenly next to him, heart beating strong. Scott curled into Isaac's side, resting his forehead gently against the other boy's ribs. Isaac seemed to sigh in his sleep.

The couches dipped next to him. The sounds of breathing, of heartbeats, and the smell of Stiles and Liam washed over him, shushing the last of the fear in his mind and nudging him into sleep.

 **I'm a slut for reviews, y'all. Please tell me what you think!**


	4. Chapter 4

4.

Scott jolted awake.

At first, he couldn't remember where he was. He was breathing into someone's chest. What the hell–?

The events of the night cascaded into him. He tensed, then relaxed. He smelled everyone. But what if–?

Panic electrified him. He sat upright. He was sleeping next to Isaac. The other boy's head was tilted back. Scott put his fingers gently to his neck and found his pulse point.

A heart beat reassuringly under his fingers. Scott relaxed again.

He looked around. The loft was shadowy, but through the big windows he could see the sky lightening with the coming dawn. Braeden was still gone, but Derek had moved. He was still in wolf form, and lay on the floor near the couches. He breathing pattern suggested sleep, but his face and ears were oriented toward the door.

Second line of defense. Scott suddenly felt a rush of gratitude toward him and Braeden.

Stiles was asleep next to him, head thrown back, mouth open, snoring softly. One of his hands was behind his head, the other pressed against Scott's lower back. Next to Stiles, against the far back of the second couch, was Liam. His back was toward Scott, and his ribs rose and fell softly.

Scott looked back down at Isaac. The beta was sleeping soundly. Blond lashes were light against his pale skin and dark bruises, which were faded a little but still fully visible. Scott rested his hand against Isaac's bare collarbone and sensed his pain. Still there, but a fraction of what it had been. Not enough to disturb his sleep. Whatever Deaton had given him was working well.

Scott smiled softly. God, he was glad Isaac was home.

"Who is he?"

Scott half-turned to see Liam awake and looking up at him, blue eyes bright in the dark.

Scott sighed. "He was one of Derek's betas," he started quietly. "He took Derek's offer to get away from his home life. When Derek was being pursued by the alpha pack, he came to live with me. Eventually he sorta joined my pack." He'd given Liam the run-down of the events of last year. He didn't go too far into detail. No need to scare the kid even more than necessary.

Liam looked confused. "I thought you and Derek were in the same pack?"

"Usually we are. These days, anyway. But back then Derek was an alpha, and I had just become one. So Isaac joined us. Then he went to live in France with Argent when he left town. He fell out of touch. I had no idea he was coming back."

He'd hoped, though. He'd always hoped Isaac would come back. He started realizing it when Deaton first taught Isaac how to lift someone else's pain. The way Isaac had cried, and then looked joyful, and grateful, that he could do that– Scott started realizing that under the hard carapace of his father's abuse and Derek's power tripping, there was a boy with a gentle heart. He'd only just started to meet him when he left.

"Why did he leave?" asked Liam softly.

Scott swallowed the familiar stab of agony that surfaced whenever he let his thoughts stray in this direction. "We lost a friend. A good friend."

"Argent's daughter," Liam whispered, careful.

Scott nodded. He didn't look at Liam. He wasn't ready to get into that with him. "It hit Isaac especially hard. When Argent left, he went with him."

"Why'd he come back?"

Scott looked down at Isaac, at the gentle boy sleeping. "I don't know. I'm willing to bet he'll tell us when he wakes up."

Liam nodded. He pulled his blanket up a little more to go to back to sleep.

"Liam," Scott said. "Thanks for being here."

Liam half-smiled at that. "Sure." He rolled over, settling under the blanket with a soft sigh.

Scott lay back down. It wasn't quite dawn yet. He could sleep a little more. He curled back into Isaac's warmth and drifted off again.

He didn't wake again until Isaac started screaming.


	5. Chapter 5

Scott bolted upright. The loft was drenched in sunlight and the air smelled like iron. Isaac was thrashing in the blankets next to him, screaming and snarling.

"Isaac! Isaac, stop, stop, you're okay!" Scott grabbed for Isaac's flailing hands. His claws and fangs were out, and like last night on the table, his eyes were yellow and wide with fear and seemed to see nothing around him. Scott registered they were alone– Stiles, Liam and Derek were nowhere to be seen.

Isaac showed no sign of relenting. Scott shifted and pinned him down with his knee and managed to snatch his wrists. Isaac was weak from his injuries, but still plenty strong, and Scott's own reserves were still tapped from last night. He grunted in strain and he struggled to keep the beta from throwing him off.

"Isaac, come on!" Scott yelled. "Wake up! You're safe, it's me!"

One of Isaac's hands slipped free. Before Scott could react, a bright blur came down. Claws raked across his temple and face, trailing fire in their wake. He was so stunned that Isaac– _Isaac–_ had hurt him that for a split second he went still.

With a feral snarl, Isaac leapt up and tackled him. They toppled off the couches and onto the floor. Scott's head hit the floorboards hard, and his vision blurred. Then Isaac was on him, pinning his chest and bracketing his throat with one hand.

An old, deep panic, one that grew familiar from sixteen years of asthma attacks, flared in Scott. He thrashed and tried to throw Isaac off. Blood ran into his right eye. Isaac pressed down harder, and Scott's strength began to leave him. He fought to pull in air and failed.

"Isaac, please," he whispered, with the last of his breath. He let go of Isaac's other wrist and gently grasped his jaw, running his thumb over his cheekbone like he had the night before in the driveway. He stared into the sightless amber eyes. "It's Scott. It's me, Isaac. Please. Come back. Please."

Above him, Isaac froze.

The pressure on his throat and chest abruptly cut off. Scott heaved in a breath and sat up, coughing violently, gasping in oxygen. His head cleared.

When he looked up, Isaac was there. Isaac, with normal teeth and blood on his lips and blue eyes shining with tears.

"Isaac?" Scott asked, gently, carefully.

"Scott…" Isaac whispered. "What did– what did I–" he reached out as if to touch the cuts on Scott's face, then recoiled sharply. He looked down, away from Scott. "Did I…"

Scott could see him panicking, spiraling. He reached out, and gently grasped Isaac's outstretched hand. "It's okay. It's okay, Isaac. I'll heal." He could feel the fine trembling in Isaac's body, smell the shock and fear and relief emanating from him. He smiled softly. "We both will."

With a gasp, like Isaac hadn't been breathing either, he fell forward and threw his arms around Scott. Scott hugged him back hard, just as Isaac began crying desperately.

"I'm sorry!" he wailed. "I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry!"

"It's okay, Isaac. It's okay." Scott pull him closer so the other boy was sobbing into his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Isaac repeated. "I thought you were a hunter. I've been running for days. I thought I'd never make it. Last night, when I got into the city limits, they caught up with me, I got away but all I could think was to get home, get to your house, but now they'll come here and I shouldn't have come back, I shouldn't have come back, and oh, God, _I'm just so sorry–"_

"No, Isaac," Scott murmured, gently but firmly cutting his diatribe. "We're safe here. You're safe here. And Jesus, no, I'm so damn happy you're back. I missed you."

Gradually, Isaac calmed down. "I missed you too," he croaked. "After Chris left, I thought I could make it on my own, but…I got so lonely. I couldn't stop thinking of you guys, I missed you all so much. I missed this place."

"We missed you too," Scott said. "A lot has changed." Isaac seemed to have no desire to move, and to be honest, Scott didn't either. He rested his head on the other boy's shoulder, and for a few moments the two of them just breathed there together as Isaac's heart rate came down and the cuts on Scott's face began to heal.

After a while, Isaac began to tense in Scott's arms, and pain soured the room. Scott leaned him back gently. "Isaac? What hurts?"

Isaac was pale, but his eyes were clear. He grimaced. "My chest. Still healing." Scott looked down to find some fresh blood on Isaac's shirt.

"Right, okay. Let's get you back onto the couch." Scott gently helped Isaac to his feet. They staggered over to the couch, and Scott laid him down on top of one of the blankets. He lifted Isaac's shirt to check the wounds. They were raw, but looked clean, and as Scott watched he could see the blood stop seeping. "They look okay. Deaton got all the poison out." Scott grimaced at Isaac's shirt, stained now with blood. "Let me get you a clean shirt, though."

Isaac didn't protest. Scott pulled a blanket over his legs, then went to the dresser by Derek's bed and selected one of his more worn-out shirts. Scott was pretty sure he wouldn't mind, given how many clothes they destroyed pretty regularly. Being a werewolf was hell on the wardrobe. He found a soft black one and brought it back to the couch colony. Isaac's eyes were fluttering, lips parted in exhaustion.

"Come on, sit up." Scott helped him, then worked off the other shirt. He realized it was also one of Derek's. Someone must have pilfered it last night, probably Stiles. Oh, well. He'd ask Braeden to take Derek shopping if he got his tail in a twist about it.

With his chest bare, Scott could see that the bruises that had looked so livid the night before were healing nicely. The skin around the stab wounds looked healthy. Thank God for Deaton. As gently as he could, Scott lifted the new shirt over Isaac's head and settled it onto him.

It seemed to take the last shred of energy out of Isaac. With a bone-deep sigh, he crumpled forward.

"Woah, woah." Scott caught him before he could faceplant and guided him gently onto his back. He could feel the pain jolting through the beta's chest, and he knew it would keep him awake.

Scott laid down next to Isaac and settled against his side, like he had last night. "Scott?" mumbled Isaac, his words thick with fatigue. "What..?"

"It's okay," Scott murmured soothingly. He gently grasped Isaac's wrist and began to pull away his pain. He grimaced, then relaxed as it faded out of both of them. "Sleep, Isaac. You need it."

All the tension seeped out of Isaac's frame. His eyes slid shut. "Stay," he whispered.

With one word, the last year, the pain, the fear, the losses they shared, the loves they'd buried, and all the miles that had once been between them and now were gone welled up within Scott. He found himself blinking away tears, and then he let them fall.

"I'm right here," he whispered. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

Just before they both fell asleep, Scott heard Isaac say, "Neither am I."


	6. Chapter 6

Stiles suppressed a groan as he mounted the stairs to Derek's loft. He was wickedly sore from lacrosse practice, and the growing pressure of midterms was just adding to his stress, both supernatural and otherwise. Still, the past five days had been a pleasant break from the usual monotony of school. And now it was Friday, thank God. Isaac should be fully healed by next week, and then Stiles wouldn't have to keep picking up all of Scott's notes and trying to convince his more skeptical teachers of his best friend's truly crippling case of strep throat.

Stiles paused at the top of the landing, and turned to face the bottom of the steps. "Hey, you comin'? Let's go!"

"Sorry!" Liam rounded the corner and came bounding up. "Your Jeep tried to eat me."

"She does that." Stiles commenced walking again.

"You should really get that door fixed."

"You can blame Scott. He keeps crushing the handle whenever something supernatural happens. I've pretty much given up."

Liam snickered, and Stiles felt himself smirking too. There was a new, revitalized life in the air. Despite the drama of his return, having Isaac back in town had been unexpectedly great. He'd changed from the scared loose cannon they'd once known into a competent young werewolf with a sharp sense of humor and a quiet inner confidence, both of which had made themselves more and more known as he healed. It also turned out that all that time in France had piqued his interest in cooking, and he'd become a pretty good amateur chef. They'd found this out somewhat innocuously, when at the end of day three Isaac asked if he could cook something.

"I want to be on my feet for a little bit, and it would feel good to make something with my hands," he'd explained. "Besides, I'm hungry like, all of the time now, and I don't want to completely demolish Derek's fridge."

They got him the ingredients, and Isaac proceeded to make the finest venison spaghetti that Stiles had ever had. They were all blown away by it, and his choice to use deer meat instantly transformed Malia's initial suspicion into adherent alliance. It had been weirdly nice, to have the whole pack together sitting on the floor of Derek's loft and eating spaghetti, Isaac, still weak, leaning against Scott for support. Though he was healing quickly, and he'd repeatedly told Scott to go to school, Scott refused to leave the loft until Isaac was healed enough to move around fully on his own. Isaac's protests were adorably weak.

Thinking of it as they neared the loft door, it made Stiles smile. Losing Allison had ripped a hole in all of them. Isaac leaving without saying goodbye had widened it. Having him back now felt weirdly right. Stiles and Isaac had never been super close, but he was surprised by how much he'd missed having the scarf-wearing asshole around. And with all the supernatural weirdness that seemed unable to leave Beacon Hills alone, they would need all the help they could get.

They neared the door. Derek and Braden had been gone for the last two days, following a lead on the Desert Wolf. They were supposed to get home tonight, though.

As Stiles lifted his hand to knock, a shout came from inside.

Liam tensed. "Scott?" he yelled.

Stiles pounded the door, and was surprised to find it unlocked. They rushed in, and Stiles found himself in the midst of a no-holds-barred, full-contact lycanthropic pillow fight.

Scott and Isaac were on the couch island, wrestling playfully and whaling on each other with all pillows available. Blankets and more pillows were strewn across the loft floor. The boys were laughing and yipping like puppies. As Stiles watched, totally stunned, Isaac tackled Scott onto the couches and began tickling him. Scott howled with laughter and mock-protest, trying and failing to throw the taller boy off. Neither of them seemed to have any idea they were no longer alone.

Stiles glanced at Liam. The two exchanged a look, and a silent conversation passed between them, during which they reached the conclusion that the homework they'd intended to do this afternoon was to be abandoned. Stiles kicked off his shoes, dropped off his backpack, grabbed a pillow from the floor, and leaped into the fray.

"Excellent!" Isaac roared. "Fresh victims!"

The afternoon devolved into an even more violent affair, more a pillow war than a pillow fight, during which insults were hurled, bellies were tickled, and blanket fortresses were hastily constructed only to be destroyed immediately by a well-placed pillow toss or body slam.

Finally, Stiles and Isaac ran out of energy first. They flopped onto the couches, panting and sweaty. Scott and Liam followed soon after. Afternoon light streamed into the loft, drenching the space in a soft glow.

They all lay there for a minute. Then Stiles asked, "You guys wanna watch Star Wars? Scott still hasn't seen it."

Turns out, Isaac hadn't seen it either. Add that to the ways his childhood was fucked– at least this they could rectify. Stiles found a Putlocker version and hooked his laptop up to the TV while the others half-heartedly cleaned up the pillows. They settled in and started with _A New Hope._

By _The Empire Strikes Back,_ Malia, Lydia and Kira had joined them. Isaac made popcorn– and somehow made it taste _better_ than any popcorn Stiles had ever had, seriously what did France do to that kid– and another small war ensued to see who could fit the most popcorn in their mouth at once (Malia).

Somewhere around the start of the third movie, Isaac and Scott fell asleep. Lydia followed soon after. Stiles felt himself getting drowsy. He relaxed into the couch, safe and content in the knowledge that his friends were with him, and, for now at least, everyone was safe.

No, better than safe. For the first time in a long time, everyone was pretty damn close to happy. He closed his eyes and let sleep take him.

ººº

And that was how Derek found them, when he and Braeden got home around midnight to credits rolling on the TV, the smell of butter and Old Bay, and several couches full of teenagers, all dead asleep. A year or two ago, he would have been annoyed, even angry, at the invasion of his space. But he'd grown since the night Peter bit Scott and set this whole path in motion. They all had.

He and Braden could take the upstairs tonight. Derek smiled gently. He pulled

another blanket over Scott and Isaac, where they snored softly, leaning against each other.

Then he switched off the TV, turned off the lights, and left his pack to sleep.


End file.
